


hey, you knocked the sense right out of me

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Concussions, Cuddling, Geralt is nb, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Other, Sleepy Geralt, Spooning, but you should know, confused Geralt, geralt gets a concussion, jaskier helps him not tip over, not relevant to story, this is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "How are you feeling?""... My head hurts." Jaskier was somewhat taken aback when he so readily admitted it, and understood Geralt had to be feeling all kinds of shitty.Geralt winds up with a concussion, except this time he has a bard to help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 640





	hey, you knocked the sense right out of me

**Author's Note:**

> It's mushy and gushy. Leave a comment if you like!!

To say Jaskier was surprised was an understatement; he was horror struck, awed beyond conventional belief.. very,  _ very _ surprised. There he had been, idly plucking at his lute and running a verse through his head and teeth when he heard the telltale snap of an unfortunate branch. Geralt was back. Jaskier didn't bother to turn -too trusting? When was Jaskier not out for a deathwish- simply waiting for the witcher to come sit down and lick whatever wounds he gained from his most recent battle. 

That is exactly what did  _ not _ happen.

Instead, Jaskier sat and waited for a good few seconds before he realized that the footprints had stopped. The bard turned to glance over his shoulder, only to jerk when he saw Geralt's still form sitting heavily on the ground. "Geralt? what on Earth-" he began, scrambling to his feet and moving towards the obviously injured witcher. The words faded in his throat when he saw just how gorey Geralt was, and traced his eyes over the absolutely  _ impressive _ bruise trailing across his temple and cheek. 

His eye was violently red and black, as well. All in all, the entirety of one side of his face was swollen and blotched purple and blue. It was quite a pitiful sight, loath as Geralt would be to hear it. "Hoo boy. That's quite a mark, isn't it?" The wavering, though scathing, look he received almost made him laugh. 

Moving closer, he crouched down in front of the witcher and slowly reached to grip his shoulder. After an…  _ incident  _ involving moving too fast and startling him, Jaskier always made sure to make it very apparent what he was doing lest Geralt near take his arm off. Again. Geralt was sweating lightly, he noted, and so near his face the stark black veins made themselves very obvious. Too many potions as well, then. Jaskier's smile dropped and turned quickly to a scowl. 

"What is all this? Do you plan on turning your liver to a rock anytime soon?" 

No response. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement. Jaskier sighed in a mock weary fashion, rolling his eyes and urging Geralt to stand. Geralt made a strange noise in the back of his throat at the movement, head lolling as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He looked akin to a ragdoll, flopping as if full of sand. 

"No, no- none of that, sorry to say I'm not letting you sleep for some time, dearheart." Jaskier received another strangled noise for his troubles, Geralt blinking slowly and staring somewhere to the left of his face. It was much more unnerving than Jaskier would care to admit, and he snapped his fingers in an attempt to move Geralt's gaze back into his face. 

"Oh dear." Jaskier couldn't stop himself from saying, much to Geralt's confused chagrin. His pupils were doing something intriguing- that is, forgetting how to do their job and instead dilating and shrinking to a ridiculous degree. The final look was..  _ something _ . With one eye a vivid amber and the other almost solidly black, Geralt looked higher than a Nilfgaardian prince on his 16th birthday.

"Right, well, eh-" Jaskier said, very eloquently. "Come here, let me clean you off. Then  _ maybe _ you can sleep, if you're not bleeding from your eyes or anything." Easier said than done, with Geralt steadily ignoring his demands and doing a brilliant imitation of a sack of turnips. 

Somehow,  _ somehow _ Jaskier managed to get him sitting propped against a -rather conveniently placed- oak tree. He held a spare scrap of cloth, likely from the remnants of one of Geralt's shirts, dampened with water from his skin. Geralt owed him a trip to a fresh stream once this was over and done, and Jaskier tried not to be  _ too _ worried or indignant both as he slowly began to work through the dried viscera on Geralt's face. 

"This is… quite a bit of blood, darling." Jaskier laughed nervously.

"'S not all mine." Geralt croaked in response, startling Jaskier; he had been moving on the assumption that Geralt wasn't in a speaking mood. 

"Well, dear. That doesn't take away from the fact that the majority of what's in your hair  _ is _ , in fact, your own blood." Geralt didn't respond, only leaning into the wet rag and closing his eyes all over again. Jaskier was slowly revealing the extent of the bruising, a vivid thing that stretched across his temple and ear to his lower jaw. "Good  _ gods _ , Geralt. That hit could've killed you." The thought made Jaskier nauseated, fear rolling in the pit of his stomach as he suddenly became all the more grateful for witcher constitution. 

It took quite a few rinses for all the blood to be cleared away, and one moment of Geralt sputtering on the water that somehow managed to go up his nose. He looked certifiably miserable by the time Jaskier was finished and tossed the rag behind him, and Jaskier felt a twinge of pity for him. The blood was off, though, and Jaskier could see what he needed to treat clearly enough now. 

"There you are, love." He said gently, brushing damp hair from Geralt's face and moving closer to see the thick cut across his temple. It was still slowly oozing blood, not quite coagulated anymore from Jaskier's influence. "We'll treat this and then you can lay down for a bit, yeah? Let your pretty head rest before we look for a healer." 

A small grunt was Geralt's answer, and Jaskier chuckled. "Give me one moment to gather up the poultice, I'll be right back." Jaskier was fast to move and sort through his bag, not willing to leave Geralt unattended for too long, even if it  _ was _ just a short distance away. His return was anticlimactic, carrying a vial of oil and a glass jar of crushed herbs that would make a handy paste for the scoring mark across Geralt's face. 

Moving down to him, Jaskier moved and pushed his head up with two fingers. "I'm going to put this across your face; it's one of those pastes you use for wounds, alright?" Geralt attempted another nod, leaning the back of his head against the rough bark and somehow finding it comfortable. "I'll never get how you sleep so easily," Jaskier commented, moving his fingers up and away by a few scarce inches. "I can hardly- oi! Did you just  _ bite me? _ " 

Geralt had indeed nipped Jaskier's finger, opening a single, overly dilated eye to look unrepentantly at the bard. Jaskier sputtered as Geralt closed his eye, opening his mouth and releasing Jaskier's poor finger. "I'll remember that." He grouched, holding his hand to his chest. "You and your fangs, I'd swear you're teething at the best of times." Geralt did a lovely imitation of Roach, and snorted at the comment. Jaskier sputtered some more. 

"Fine! See if I clean this up." Jaskier growled, while cleaning said wound up. He was contrastingly gentle compared to his verbal assault, callused fingers working quickly to smooth the cool paste across the cut and surrounding bruising. "Swear one these days I'm gonna-" he paused, thinking of an appropriate threat. "-I'm going to write another song about you." Geralt opened his eyes again at that, glaring playfully. 

"Ha! A reaction!" Geralt was just as fast to close his eyes when Jaskier crowed in victory, grunting faintly. "What? What's wrong, Geralt?" 

"Hm. Cold." Jaskier blinked, dumbfounded at that. It was mid Summer, and absolutely blazing outside. Jaskier himself was even sweating in his silken clothes, and he was skittish to imagine what Geralt would normally be feeling like in his thick, black clothing.

"... Right. Would you like a hug?" A tentative ask, considering Jaskier was completely unwilling to put him under blankets and risk heatstroke, no matter  _ how _ cold Geralt claimed he was. Geralt slowly nodded, head bobbing dangerously to the side and making Jaskier move to prop it up, concern rising for a moment. Another put upon sigh and he knee-walked over, wrapping his arms around the witcher and pulling him as close as possible against the tree.

Geralt clearly had different ideas, taking advantage of Jaskier's momentary weakness to wiggle his way chest to chest with the bard. He was practically in Jaskier's  _ lap _ , and Jaskier froze for a split second at the sensation of solid muscle and soft flesh against him, heavy and limp from a damage induced exhaustion. Geralt was radiating heat and yet shivering, burrowing his face into the crook of Jaskier's neck. The bard clumsily freed his arms to pat at Geralt's back, only stopping when he  _ felt _ the hitch in the witcher's breath from the contact jostling his sore neck. Geralt was pressing his face against Jaskier's neck. Jaskier's rather sensitive neck, at that. He could feel Geralt's eyelashes flutter against the flesh, and the poet was suddenly faint of both mind and heart. 

"Hey, you're alright. Once the potions wear off we'll move to a town and find a healer." Jaskier's voice was quiet, hesitant to raise too loud and hurt Geralt's already hypersensitive hearing. "How hard did you hit your head, exactly?" 

The seconds it took Geralt to formulate an answer only made Jaskier's concern rise, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief when the other finally answered. "Got thrown. Landed on a rock." 

A wince in sympathy, and the bard stroked a hand through Geralt's hair. "Good Gods, glad it's just bruised, then. A few days rest and you'll be good as new. Talk about luck."

Geralt didn't deem that worth a reply, instead chuffing lightly against the thin skin of Jaskier's neck and closing his eyes. He seemed achingly sluggish, face paler than usual and veins stark around his eyes. The bright cobalt and violet of his unfortunate face did little to help the way he appeared, and Jaskier didn't even bother to fight his hands moving to pet gently through the thick silver hair. 

Geralt made a small, content noise at that and Jaskier felt his heart stop and start with aching clarity. He was so  _ faithful _ , and to  _ him _ of all people. Letting Jaskier wipe the blood from his face and hold him close, not fearing that he would strike a blow while Geralt's defenses were down. He was handing Jaskier something small and infinitely delicate; his trust. Jaskier felt his breath catch when he shifted closer, movement disoriented and off kilter. He trusted him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier made very careful steps to ensure his voice didn't crack. 

"Hn."

"How are you feeling?"

"... My head hurts." Jaskier was somewhat taken aback when he so readily admitted it, and understood Geralt had to be feeling all kinds of shitty.

"Right. We don't have anything for pain, and I'm not letting you within a foot of your potions until that black blood wears off. It seems we're in a predicament." 

Geralt remained silent, and Jaskier almost thought he didn't hear him until he finally croaked out a hesitant question. "Sing to me?" 

Now, any other time Jaskier would not pause to rub this into the white wolf's face. After all this time of moaning and complaining about his singing, it comes to head that he actually enjoyed it. However- this was not any other time and Jaskier was never to dare and make Geralt feel any worse than he could possibly be feeling right now. He would save the gentle joshing for when Geralt didn't look like he was going to hurl. 

"Of course I will. Something soft, yes?" Soft, soft… Jaskier racked his mind for a soothing song that  _ didn't  _ involve horrific heartbreak or some sort of murder, and came up achingly empty. Well, heartbreak it was, then. Jaskier doubted Geralt would ever appreciate hearing a song about murder, considering how much he had to see in his normal, day to day life. A deep breath to prepare himself, and Jaskier began to delicately sing. If Geralt noticed the lyrics, he didn't make any sort of movement showing it, so Jaskier relaxed and began to sing fully. The lyrics were a bit much, he thought to himself, but fitting. He was rather proud of it. 

He was just coming upon the last stanza when he felt a gentle vibration against his chest, the song stopping abruptly when he realized what it was. Geralt was gently snoring, each breath terrifyingly slow and weighted with witcher anatomy. That was little matter, though; Jaskier was long used to the eccentricities of his muse's differing biological aspects. What did matter, very much so, was that Geralt was  _ fast _ asleep on Jaskier's chest and shoulder. Deeply asleep, too, considering Jaskier doubted he had ever heard Geralt snore before in all the years they'd shared beds and inn rooms.

He was asleep, and the camp was a good distance away.

Jaskier was  _ doomed. _

*****

It took some shuffling and no small amount of begging on Jaskier's part to half walk-half carry a barely conscious Geralt towards their tent. He had never been more grateful for their habit to set up early for hunts, scared to think of just what might've happened if they hadn't. For once Jaskier blessed Geralt for his obsessive nature and excruciating hatred for any sort of change to their routine. 

Manipulating Geralt's unwilling form into a bedroll was another daunting task on its own, as the witcher had made it very _ , very _ clear that he was somehow cold despite it being mid-May. He gripped clumsily at Jaskier's doublet, squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling. The sound was absolutely incoherent, and after Jaskier's second try at asking him to repeat it, he gave up. Instead, the bard wrapped an awkward arm around him; despite all his internal insistence on boundaries, he was pleased with how comfortable it was.

By Melitele's tits, Jaskier was in for it, wasn't he?

He was pressed firmly against nearly 200 pounds of solid monster hunter, and he didn't quite know how to process that information. Geralt was all thick, ropey muscle and shocking softness; Jaskier's palm firm against his stomach. He didn't quite expect Geralt to have any sort of fat on him, but that might've been a nasty assumption on Jaskier's part. 

Jaskier was realizing he had made quite a few nasty assumptions, lately. Like how he had assumed Geralt would be frigid and unyielding if held; he was actually quite relaxed, more of a puddle at the moment than a deadly warrior. Or how he had assumed that Geralt's hair was coarse and filthy. While Jaskier couldn't deny it wasn't the cleanest, it was surprisingly soft; the white of it blended well with grey, and Jaskier realized Geralt's hair was actually two different shades of color. 

Geralt was also very warm, and Jaskier could feel his mutant slow heartbeat with each lazy inhale he took. It surprised the man; being reminded at times like these that while Geralt  _ looked _ human, he in no honest way truly was. It didn't mean Jaskier loved him any less, no. It just meant that humans didn't have claws, and didn't breathe only once every minute. Or, you know, didn't use magic to blast fire and trap wayward spirits into the physical plain in order to wail on them with copious amounts of silver. 

As he was pondering, Geralt yawned gently and his fangs flashed vaguely in the light. That was another thing that was both not quite human and unfairly attractive. Even now, when he was fast asleep, it somehow made him seem  _ endearing _ . His mouth was slightly open, and his face wasn't creased with the worry lines that usually burrowed deep into it.

Like a deadly witcher had any right to be endearing. Jaskier mentally huffed, unable to tear his eyes away. 

Today was absolutely full of discoveries, it seemed. Jaskier should've prepared a journal to take notes in, or to use as a rough draft for whenever his muse struck. Looking at the hunter pressing his face against the silk of his doublet, Jaskier didn't doubt that his muse would appear much akin to a kikimora with a bone club; ready to bash his head in with inspiration of the romantic sort. What a strike it would be, as well. Perhaps an ode to metallic eyelashes and blue bruising; worship of the cherry pit blood vampires lusted after and of pink, orchid lips.

Jaskier would swear up and down for the rest of his -admittedly long, he'd need to check in on that- mortal life that Geralt had some sort of magic in his code. Not the witcher sort- actual, natural magic. The kind you were born with and could only ever be born with. An elf of sorts, slinking elegantly through the woods as if he was born there; maybe he was, even. Or a druid, he thought to himself. The healing abilities were there, as well as Geralt's strange gift with flora and fauna of all kind. Then again he could've been a completely normal child before the mutations, and Jaskier was perhaps just waxing romantic to a dark moon all over again. 

He would admit he could be a bit of a milksop at times. 

Another short yawn from Geralt, this time with some sort of snuffle, and Jaskier decided it would be a somewhat decent time to wake him and check up on his poor brain. He sat up slowly, looking down at the splay of white hair and pale skin, and swallowed heavily when his mouth dried. Jaskier shook his head a bit before moving to gently nudge the witcher's shoulder, humming faintly under his breath. 

"Come now, Geralt. You can't sleep forever, and especially not with such a head wound." 

Geralt made quite a disgusting noise at that, something between a snort and a snore. Jaskier watched as he bleerily blinked his eyes open, and couldn't stop the small smile from breaking across his face at the befuddled look Geralt had. "Hello, dearheart." He hummed, pushing Geralt back slightly to get an even better look at him. "How are you starting to feel?" 

Geralt looked wonderfully disgruntled at being woken up, still blinking and the cheek of his face pink from being pressed against the side of his bedroll pillow. He didn't quite answer the question, instead trying to burrow his face back into his blankets and curling slightly into the warmth. 

"Hey- hey, I need to know how you feel, Geralt." 

No actual answer, Geralt sighing through his nose and making a face instead. Jaskier frowned at him, and he finally,  _ finally  _ said something worth listening to. "'M dizzy, and tired." 

Well. At least he was being honest this time around. 

"Right," Jaskier began slowly, "I'd quite appreciate it if you drank some water, then you can rest more. Sound good?" Geralt huffed, eyes closing again as he hopped his head in a sad mimicry of a regular nod. His neck must be more sore than Jaskier realized. 

"Good, good. Here, try to sit up a little bit?" Jaskier made grabs for his waterskin, watching like a hawk as Geralt attempted to sit himself up. It was a rather sad attempt. "Or not- here, let me prop you up." Before he even realized what had came out of his mouth, Jaskier had scooted closer and adjusted the witcher, letting him rest his head on the bard's shoulder. "Right as rain, I'll hold it for you." He raised the skin, only to pause at the indignant noise Geralt made in response. "None of that, you don't need to do anything more than what's necessary. Let me take care of you." Without waiting for the inevitable reply, Jaskier raised the skin to Geralt's lips and herded him into drinking. 

It was slow going, Jaskier only allowing gentle sips after Geralt choked trying to gulp the water down. Eventually they managed half the skin, before Jaskier hummed in approval and pressed a feather light kiss onto Geralt's forehead. "Ready to lay back down now?" He murmured, watching with some amusement as Geralt stared at nothing in particular and blinked slowly. He made a small noise and Jaskier bent down to hear him properly. 

"Can I?"

"Of course, that's why I asked." Jaskier said, raising a brow. He moved as best he could with one arm numb from copious amounts of witcher, somehow managing to lay them down without giving Geralt yet another concussion. Geralt's wounded head was placed against Jaskier's chest, ear pressed to hear his human-fast heartbeat. He was half-asleep, eyes barely slitted open and breath returning to its startlingly slow pace; and it was so heartbreakingly sweet that Jaskier couldn't stop himself from pressing a firm kiss to the crown of his head. 

Jaskier had much to say, as always. So much to say about Geralt and the world and his music, but right now he thought he was quite content. Jaskier was happy without filling the silence; he supposed this was something to get used to. 

_ Without  _ the concussion added on. 

**Author's Note:**

> https://ko-fi.com/kaitmarie
> 
> Buy me a coffee?


End file.
